‘I think Scary Sue wore that exact same outfit the night she tried to seduce you in the men’s.’
Ben nearly choked on his first sip. ‘Ugh. Don’t remind me.’
Never one for small talk, Cooper got straight to the point. ‘I’m looking for someone to do some filming.’
‘Oh?’ Ben swallowed another mouthful of beer.
‘It’s fairly long-term, at least nine months, with a pretty intense first couple of weeks, then maybe one day a fortnight filming. And then we need everything edited.’
‘What is it, a science project? Do you want me to film brains? This sounds like the opening scene in a horror movie.’
They sat back while Scary Sue slid a packet of Scampi Fries in front of Ben with a wink. ‘On the house, for old times’ sake.’
He managed a strangled approximation of thanks while Cooper stalled for time.
‘You might prefer it to be a horror movie.’
‘What, is it unethical? If it’s experiments on animals then we can end the conversation here.’
‘Nothing like that. The pay is crap though.’
‘Honestly, mate, as long as it’s not having to endure another twelve hours of wedding nausea, I’m probably up for it.’
‘Yeah, so…’
Cooper told him about the project, waited out the initial deluge of scorn, bought another couple of drinks and wrote a figure on a piece of paper, sliding it across the table as big businessmen did in the films.
‘It’ll be easy money. You can film a wedding with your eyes closed, most of the rest is straight interviews.’
‘Where’s the honeymoon?’
‘Where do you want it to be?’
Ben took a slow drink while he thought about it. ‘Hawaii.’
‘The entire project budget wouldn’t cover that.’
‘A May wedding? How about the Highlands. We can get some good shots in the mountains, messing about on a loch, cosying up in a log cabin.’
‘This is documenting scientific research, not making a Netflix movie.’
‘Mate, if I’m going to be shooting a nine-month wedding video, I’m going to make damn sure it’s the last one I ever have to film. This’ll be Oscar worthy by the time I’m finished with it. At the very least worth a late-night slot on Notts TV.’
‘What, once you’re a sought-after documentary filmmaker you won’t do my wedding?’
Ben tipped back his head and full-on laughed at that. ‘If you ever find someone gullible enough to marry you, I’ll film it for free.’
* * *
Emma
By the middle of the week, I still hadn’t shaken off my post-wedding blues. This was a tricky turn of events, given that I was supposed to be organising my own sister and housemate’s wedding, and my job that week included meeting with and baking cakes for a whole range of people celebrating either their love and commitment, the tiny new people who existed as result of love and commitment, or how astoundingly long they’d ended up in love and still committed to each other. Love, marriage and happy-ever-afters seemed to be everywhere.
I dumped a stodgy lemon sponge in the bin, cleared up the mess and let Nita know that I was going out for lunch and might not be back for the rest of the day. She was lost in a world of lace gloves and hat pins; I’m not sure she even heard me.
Forty-five minutes later, I found my dad exactly where I expected him to be – sitting in his recliner chair by the fire, a rug across his knees, his walking stick propped against the coffee table.
He was fifty-six. My heart cracked every time I saw him.
